


a night to dismember (shut up tozier)

by Evanaissante



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Stanley Uris is So Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 22:58:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21261023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanaissante/pseuds/Evanaissante
Summary: Richie bought a pumpkin, Stan's not a fan.





	a night to dismember (shut up tozier)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpicyWolfsbane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyWolfsbane/gifts).

> happy halloween! welcome to my first stozier, which is of course for my wife dani, but i hope you all enjoy this fluffy nonsense!

Richie bought a pumpkin.

It was huge, maybe the size of a watermelon, and it was neon orange, the kind you wouldn't find in the wild. The kind of orange you find on rave parties' bracelets or on bar signs in New York. It wasn't a natural squash, it couldn't be, it was so big Richie could have sat on it and rolled down the road with no problem if it hadn't also been bumpy as hell. It wasn't round, it didn't even look spherical, just a gigantic misshapen mass of guts and seeds. It would have even been fine, this ugly monster of a vegetable resting on Stanley's coffee table, if Richie wasn't deadly allergic to pumpkin.

"This is the dumbest thing you've ever done in your life," Stan says, feeling a headache forming as he watches Richie put on two pair of gloves, the ones Stan uses to do the dishes and thick winter ones that they haven't used since they moved to Los Angeles, "This is even dumber than your skit on the Russian prostitute."

"You say that, Staniel," Richie looks up, his glasses are slowly slipping and falling down his nose, in two seconds they'll get drenched in pumpkin juice and Stan will have to sanitize them so Richie doesn't lose an eye. "But you laughed at that skit;"

"I laughed because nobody in the room believed you were straight enough to rent an escort girl, Tozier." That's not entirely true, he did laugh of few times when Richie did that terrible Slavic accent, he couldn't help it. "I don't see why you need to carve a pumpkin, Rich, you're allergic."

Richie sighs, he doesn't roll his eyes but it's a close thing, they've been having this argument for hours now, since Richie brought this beast home and started preparing his tools to what, cut a dick into it? "Hey, remind me when you became my mother?"

"When you decided to bring home the only thing that could send you into the ER," Stan snatches a knife, the one that almost falls every time Richie shakes the table as he rolls up his sleeves. "And why do you even want to do this, we're forty, Richie."

Richie drops the spoon he was aiming menacingly to the top of the pumpkin to put a hand on his chest, "My, my, Stan the Man, I didn't know you were one of those people who believed in_ growing up_ and doing _adult stuff_. I seem to remember a very different speech coming out of your mouth."

Stan, because he's _Stan_, does roll his eyes, "That was twenty-seven years ago." He observes as Richie starts drawing something on the skin of the pumpkin, hiding it from Stan's eyes every time he tries to catch a glimpse. "And this isn't about being adults, it's about not wanting to spend our entire evening waiting for you to get an adrenaline shot because you decided to say fuck it to your body. Do you remember how swollen your lips got when you drank that latte?" The image of Richie's face, puffy and red, him suffocating as he tried to reach an EpiPen that wasn't there is inked on Stan's skin just as much as the tattoos he hides under his cardigan.

Richie pauses, just a second, his brown eyes finding Stan's before he smirks, "You're starting to sound like our favourite hypochondriac."

"Shut up."

"Yup, that too."

"_Shut_. _Up_."

Richie tries to grab another knife, because of course, he has more, but before he can do anything, Stan places himself in front of the squash, his body pressing against Richie's as his husband turns the pumpkin, hiding the drawing again and, unconsciously, wrapping his arms around Stan' waist. It's a warm embrace, the kind they fall into when Richie comes back from tour or when they're lounging on the sofa and Stan's fingers trace circles on Richie's scalp, caressing his dark curls and pressing kisses to his forehead when he falls asleep. It's disgustingly domestic, Stan would gag if he didn't love this asshole so much.

"Don't do this," He whispers, true and scared, because this is stupid, this is bullshit but Stan is truly afraid that Richie will get hurt, that he'll fall on the floor heaving as his throat closes up and his lips swell. "Do anything else, any other _un-adult stuff_ but not this. We have pot int the cupboard and we can go throw eggs at the neighbours' car, I don't care, but don't do this."

"Hey," Richie replies, his eyes shining under his glasses and Stan's heart almost ache with how much he cares for this dumbass, "You need to trust me."

"I trust you," That isn't the question, it never was. He trusts Richie with his life, but not with his own wellbeing, he can't. "I just need you to be safe."

"Stanley," And he never says his name like this, never with so much adoration in every syllable and Stan knows he's already doomed because he could never say no when Richie uses his low, raspy voice to murmur sweet nothing in Stan's ear. "Let me do this, trust me."

Stan sighs, he's still tense, he won't stop feeling itchy all over until Richie's stopped carving and gutting this fucking pumpkin, but he can't do anything else but say yes. He's smitten and Richie knows it, the wedding probably gave it away, bastard.

When Richie finally drops his spoon and knife with a smile, plopping an electric candle in the ugly vegetable, Stan takes a minute to watch him, trying to catch any unusual red spots or inflamed skin, but he looks fine, he looks healthy and overly content over this stupid thing. It must be a dick, Stan's sure of it.

His husband turns the pumpkin and Stan's breath catches in his throat; it's not a dick, not even close to it.

"Richie," He starts, feeling something form in his throat as he runs his fingers on the carved surface, "That's the ugliest turtle dove I've ever seen in my entire life."

The laugh that escapes Richie's lips is sweeter than any candy Stan's ever put in his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> turtle dove - bird of pure love
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://starryspice.tumblr.com/)


End file.
